“There are usually embossed letters or a distinctive mark on the reverse of the button for the name of the person who made it, or possibly the person it was made for.”
“Is a mark on the back of the button?”
“The letters R.M.” I replied. “There are a number of custom tailor shops in London where we might be able to find out who that is.”
I would have explained further if Rupert hadn’t suddenly come to his feet once more and charged the door. Brodie winced again as he retrieved his revolver and pushed to his feet with some effort as the door opened.
“Ye might call the beast off!” the man who had once served with Brodie snarled. “Before I toss him over the railing.”
That would have been a sight to see indeed, as Mr. Conner entered the office with that noticeable limp from an old injury and went to the side table and that bottle of Old Lodge whisky.
“It’s bloody cold outside,” he announced as he poured, tossed back the entire contents, then poured again and turned with a smile.
“Pretty as usual, Lady Forsythe.” He looked from me to Brodie. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
Brodie made a sound as he lowered himself back into the chair.
“I thought to bring you wot I learned tonight...” Mr. Conner commented. “You look like hell. Wot the devil happened?”
“It would seem there is more to it than the cut on yer cheek, with ye bent over like an old man.”
“It is good to see ye as well,” Brodie told him.
“Wot are ye hiding under yer coat?” Mr. Conner asked.
“A few bruises, no more.”
Mr. Conner nodded. “Aye, I heard that before. Off with the coat.”
“Ye are worse than an old woman!”
The ‘woman’ in the room chose not to take exception to that as Mr. Conner helped remove his coat.
“The shirt as well. I doubt there’s anything Lady Forsythe has not seen before,” he added with a grin.
Brodie glared at him.
The jumper he wore presented a different problem. It fit rather tight across his shoulders and chest and took some effort to remove as he winced and cursed.
My throat tightened at the sight of the large, dark bruise that spread across his ribs on his left side.
“Just as I thought,” Mr. Conner announced. “Does it hurt here and here?” he asked as he poked around the bruise.
“Leave off!” Brodie told him. “I can take care of myself.”
Mr. Conner looked over at me.
“Has he been coughin’ or bringin’ up any blood?”
“No,” I replied as I stared at that bruise.
“That’s a good sign. Some strong cloth will do... The ribs are broken—two, maybe more. He needs to be bound up so there’s no further injury.”
“I’ve had broken ribs before...”
Mr. Conner ignored him as I tried to think what we had in the way of cloth that might be used.
I did wish Mr. Brimley were there as I glanced at that gruesome bruise. At the moment, Brodie looked as if he would like to throw a blow at his friend as he held himself against the pain.
